Like this:

My little bit of urbanity, Capitol Centre Apartments. I'm on 14, one from the top.

For two hours every Saturday, I am transported from Madison to Babylon, thanks to WORT-FM community-supported radio and DJ FRP’s show, “Tropical Riddims.” I hang with the Rastafarians and yearn for Zion, with the help of Jah. I hear how Natty Dreadlock struggles to be free.

As my son once noted, just about every reggae song has the above elements, oh, and ganja, too. Rasta, Jah, Zion, Dread, herb. Quite a world view.

I first heard reggae in Chicago about 1974, I think. The Wailers “Catch a Fire” (that was before Bob Marley stepped into the lead role) must have played in town, or else it had something to do with the Jamaican indie film, “The Harder They Fall.” Whatever started it, I felt warmed by the rhythm, inspired by the lyrics, and was eager to visit the island. That happened over the Christmas holidays. I got involved with two street musicians during my two weeks in Montego Bay, we recorded some tunes, now lost. But all that aside, I think the music works anywhere for any reason.